The Fall of the Leaf
by The-Lady-Aphrodite
Summary: Sequel to The Tree Does Not Change  Things change. They have to because that is life. A child in a mother's womb will one day be ash in the sky. The oak that towers above us will one day burn in our fire. That is the nature of the world. Even Camelot.
1. Chapter 1

**This is actually a sequel of sorts to The Tree Does Not Change. I started writing it a long time ago and only just came back to it now and I thought this would be a multi-chapter unlike the first one. So, hope this doesn't disappoint and leads on from the ArMor story... **

**(the poem below is 'Nothing Gold Can Stay' by Robert Frost; I don't own it, I just thought it was a suitable poem to include. I also don't own any of the characters from Merlin)**

Nature's first green is gold,  
>Her hardest hue to hold.<br>Her early leaf's a flower;  
>But only so an hour.<br>Then leaf subsides to leaf.  
>So Eden sank to grief,<br>So dawn goes down to day.  
>Nothing gold can stay.<p>

Of course things change. Like the biting frosts of winter with clear white skies heavy with snow, despair and the dread of the cold ahead they change into the sweet, fresh, green-eyed swallows of spring and the bright gold of the buttercups dancing in the long, waving grass. But then that too changes into the dry heat, the endless days and the troubled nights; shiny skin and dusty hair but the promise of forever and the memory of yesterday. It changes to the mellow russet of autumn, the fall of the leaves in the woodland groves, the red, gold, yellow of the new paths scattered with the carpet of the trees. Things change. They have to because that is life. A child in a mother's womb will one day be ash in the sky. A single seed from a towering oak will one day be wood burning wistfully in a fire. The world was made to change. Even Camelot.

They had not talked for years. There was the polite conversation, the compliments, the remembrances but the deep understanding had gone. When Morgana was eighteen she had been sent away to Mercia to stay for a year with Bayard and his handsome son Viridian. Arthur had been forbidden to write to her. "That's ridiculous," he pleaded to his father. "What harm can a letter do?"

Uther had sighed and placed a sturdy hand against a withered mind. "Arthur," he reasoned. "To be blunt, Morgana is a hoyden. She should be married by now and yet she is so wild and unpredictable no one wants to marry her. I have spoken to Bayard, we both know what is to happen. When Morgana marries Viridian I will control both kingdoms."

It was so ruthless, so predetermined Arthur could not breathe for a moment. When he could he demanded once more, "I don't understand why I can't write to her."

Uther sighed again, deeply and heavily with the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. "Arthur, if you write to Morgana she will remember you. And if she remembers you, she will never change."

He was charming, Morgana thought, handsome and elegant with large brown eyes and thick, wavy black hair. He made an effort to charm her; he complimented her and told her she was beautiful. He told her she was unlike any other woman he had ever met. It was not true. She was not a fool and she did not love Viridian. Her heart was locked in Camelot and every day that passed she felt the absence of its beat, its steady flow of rich blood around her body, its solid reminder that she, Morgana was alive and healthy and whole. She could not be whole without her heart. She could not be whole without Arthur.

On the last day of summer Viridian took her to a hill overlooking the plains and woods of Mercia. He had taken her hands in his and stared deep into her cool green eyes. "Whom do you love?" He asked with the startling graveness she had never seen in Arthur.

She had not known how to answer. He smiled sadly. "I have tried, my lady, I have tried to make you love me. Yet you do not. Whom do you love?"

"I love the sea," she confessed. "I love the hot earth in the sun and the rains of the spring when the fields are green with dew. When the summer skies are the clearest blue and the only clouds are the ones you see within yourself."

Still he smiled with sadness. "Whomever you love," he said softly. "You do not love me." And his brown eyes had been so full of sorrow and regret she impulsively pressed her lips to his hands and smiled against his skin. And for the first time that night she did not dream of Arthur and Camelot.

In the morning she allowed Viridian to take her riding. They thundered across the dusty plains of Mercia; even the name of the kingdom sounding like the dry wind rasping across the brown, dead earth. Morgana had asked why it was like that. Viridian had shrugged and answered, "There was a famine and it devoured the earth. Our people have struggled in vain but the crops will not grow and the skies will not rain."

"What can you do?" Morgana stared in horror at the thin people lining the dust path, moaning and holding out their withered hands for anything. She peeled a few coins from inside her purse and dropped them on to the ground. At once, frenzy began; crying and scrabbling with moans of pain and dirty skin glowing in the sun.

"What is there to do?" he replied hopelessly. "There is no money, no food. We are not given rain or good earth. What is there to do?" Morgana had not been able to think of anything to help. They cantered through the people and away into the wilderness until they were alone with the thud of hooves and the shiny flecks of foam on their horses' necks.

Viridian sat beside Morgana and watched her. She played with the amethyst around her neck; the deep purple glowing majestically. She remembered receiving it. She remembered the music of the harps and the distant laughter and a warm, strong hand pressing a cold jewel into her own hand, a gold chain glinting. Whispered words and a smile of thanks.

"_Happy Birthday," he murmurs, taking the amethyst from his sleeve and slipping it into her hand carefully. "I hope you like it." She takes it and looks at it. _

"_You should not have." Nevertheless there is a gleam in her green eyes and she fiddles with the rich stone. _

"_Why not? You aren't sixteen every day," he whispers, close to her ear, making her spine tingle. Yes, she was sixteen. A woman now. "Besides I can't think of whom I would rather give it to."_

"_But it was your mother's –,"_

" – _So it should be locked away, never to be seen again?"_

"_Arthur, if your father knew you'd given this to me, what would he say?" She could not help gazing in wonder at the amethyst. It is surely the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. _

"_I don't know and I don't care." _

"_Arthur," she remonstrates. "Do not say such things. He is your father and he is the king. No matter what he does or what he thinks, he is your father and he deserves your respect at the very least."_

_He sighs deeply and glances to where his father is laughing heartily at some pathetic jest made by the King of Mercia. "I'll give him my respect when he deserves it." To his own ears, he sounds childish and selfish. To Morgana's he sounds selfish and childish and she raises her eyebrows to match his blush. "Morgana, you know what he does. He is trying to make me like him. Trying to make me think I'm better than anyone else, trying to make me think I'm some sort of god, some sort of High Emperor."_

_She slips the necklace into her own sleeve but does not meet his eyes. "Isn't that what you do believe?" she asks quietly. _

_He stares at her with an open mouth. "What do you mean?" he demands finally. When she does not immediately reply, he takes her hand. "Morgana, what do you mean?"_

"_Nothing," she pulls her hand away. "I meant nothing."_

_She tries to turn away from him but he pulls her back firmly. "I want to know what you mean. I believe that I'm better than everyone? That I'm a god, is that what you mean?"_

"_Arthur, these past few months we've barely seen each other. You're locked up learning about why the Pendragons are so superior or outside jousting and fighting all day. And if you aren't doing that, you're bullying some defenceless servant. Tell me, does that make you feel that you're superior?" Her green eyes flash with anger and it is only at that moment that she realises how angry she had been, how hurt she had felt when she had finally understood that she had been replaced by a horse and a long metal stick. He can't understand, she sees that in his childlike blue eyes. They have not changed. She doubt if they ever could. _

"_I see," he says eventually, letting go of her hand as if it had stung him. "I see." He walks away slowly, as if in a dream and she watches him._

_After that night it was not the same. And two years later when Uther announced Morgana would be sent to Mercia and Arthur was forbidden to write to her, he wondered ever so slightly why he did not insist on writing, why he did not secretly write, why he did not disobey his father for Morgana. He had done it before. Ah, he thought tiredly staring down at a blank piece of parchment, things change. _

"My lady?" Morgana's eyes snapped open. Viridian was looking at her worriedly. She had been clutching the necklace with tears brimming in her eyes and no words. "My lady, are you well?"

"Yes," she gasped suddenly finding the air too close, too cloying. Oh, where was Arthur? "Yes, I am well."

He smiled and glanced down. "Then my lady, may I be permitted to say something?"

"Of course."

"You will think me terribly rude and terribly forward but I have to tell you that with all my heart, Lady Morgana, I love you."

Oh. She suddenly felt dizzy. The air swam around her humming like bees in a swarm.

"My lady?" His voice echoed somewhere in the depths of her brain.

_A warm chest pressed against her back. A long arm draped comfortably over her waist. The steady sound of Arthur's breath calmed her. She expected to feel something but there was just...safety. She realised with a shock she was just a little girl again and Arthur was just her best friend._

"Excuse me," She stood and walked away. Viridian watched her in confusion as Morgana mounted her horse, plunged her heel in its side and raced away, wind blowing madly through her hair. She returned to the castle, tears stinging her eyes and her last conversation with Arthur playing through her mind painfully.

"_So, you will go to Mercia tomorrow?" Arthur stood in her doorway casually, leaning against the stone frame. She did not bother to look up from packing her things in the middle of the room. _

"_Yes." She glanced around for her amethyst necklace and bound it around her neck. _

"_I gave you that." Morgana held it. She blinked in surprise; it was true, she remembered suddenly, he had. _

_He stepped into the room. "Don't go."_

"_I have to."_

_He sighed and pressed his palm against his forehead. "Do you want to go to the willow tree?" His voice was quiet and full of hope. _

_For a moment Morgana thought how it would be if she said yes. The willow tree. They had not been there for two years. It would be brown and tired now; at the end of summer with cracked leaves and dusty roots slithering through the dry soil. She imagined the cool glade under the leaning branches and the feel of Arthur's hand in hers. The heart with their initials. No. She shook her head, not trusting her voice. Arthur did not say anything either. The silence was enough. The silence was everything. _

_He turned away and the next morning when she departed from Camelot he was not there to say goodbye. That was when she knew for certain that it was the end. _

Dear Morgana,

I have written to Bayard and he will speak to Viridian. But I thought, as your guardian, I should tell you myself. I have arranged a marriage for you with the Prince of Mercia. This, as you must be aware, is a prestigious event for you as it will mean one day you will become Queen of Mercia. You cannot be shocked as I believe you knew perfectly well what I expected to come of this visit to Mercia.

Arthur sends his affection,

Your loving guardian,

Uther, King of Camelot

She read the letter again and again before crumpling it up and tossing it into the fire. It was true she had had some idea what would happen. It was even true she was not totally averse to the idea of marrying Viridian. He respected her, admired her and he thought he loved her. He had told her once more after she had run away from him. She had returned it, if only to spare his feelings. Bayard was delighted. Uther would be too. And Arthur could keep his affection.

He had not written to her once. For the past two years he had been so immersed in training and his own superiority he had barely spoken to her. They had been acquaintances, almost strangers. Then when she was told to go to Mercia he had no real words for her. No apology, no excuses, just a half-hearted suggestion to go to the willow tree. As if that would make everything better. He could keep his damned affection.

She went to Viridian's room and knocked timidly. He immediately called for her to enter. She walked in nervously. He stood from his desk politely and asked her to sit. She did so, feeling strangely self-conscious. "You've received the letter from your father then?" He asked eagerly.

Morgana frowned. "Uther isn't my father."

"Guardian then, same thing," he sat back down and tapped his finger on his desk. "So do you agree?"

"It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice."

"No, I suppose not," he smiled and she realised he was happy. "But if we love each other, what can it matter?"

"It doesn't matter," she replied blankly. Viridian beamed. "If we loved each other."

He carried on smiling and she was struck by a sudden question. "Viridian do you like willow trees?"

He frowned in bemusement. "Willow trees?" He paused and considered, his brown eyes so old and mature. "Not really, no. So useless and depressing! The weeping willow and all that. No, give me a sturdy oak any day."

She smiled softly. Somehow she had thought he would say that.

"I received Morgana's reply today," announced Uther at dinner. Arthur looked up from his half-eaten meal, his eyes carefully empty.

"Really? What does she say?"

"Not much," Uther tried to remember. "She accepted, that's the main thing. Just some rubbish about planting oak trees and ripping up the old willow tree in the woods behind the castle."

Arthur's blood ran cold. "What?" he choked.

"I can't remember exactly. You can ask her yourself; I've told her to come back in a few days. Now the business is done she may as well."

That night Arthur stayed awake until midnight. Then in the quiet he left the castle and walked slowly down to the woods. The full moon glowed behind a shadowy pearl grey cloud. In the silence he passed every tree until he found the one he wanted. It had scarcely changed; the leaves still green in the early autumn but the air was tinged with the hint of frosts.

He knelt by the willow tree, his hand clenched against the thick bark and the fading initials and he wept. For what seemed like years he wept. Arthur wept for Morgana and what he had failed to do. He wept for himself and how he would no longer breathe when she had married someone else.

Arthur stayed there for hours. In the early dawn he glanced up and pressed his cold forehead against the dewy trunk. "There was a time I thought you had all the answers," he murmured. "But I was only a child. A boy. I thought every day would be like the days we spent here," he closed his eyes momentarily. "I would give anything to have her back, properly. I would give my soul."

The day Morgana returned was the day the heavens opened and the gods of rain themselves wept for joy and hope. Morgana emerged from under her green cloak, black hair tousled against her pale skin and her eyes just a little darker. A thin gold ring with a single purple jewel glinted on her finger. Uther rose from his throne to meet her, unshed tears in his eyes, open arms as if he had never sent her away. "Dear, dear child, I cannot say how glad I am to have you returned to us."

Morgana inclined her head. "I am pleased to have returned," Arthur flinched. Her voice was still the same musical melody but it was cold. There was a sheet of cold glass inserted between her words. She had not even looked at him yet. "King Bayard and Prince Viridian send their regards with me."

Uther beamed and took her hand, showing the ring for all the court to see. "It is my great pleasure to announce the engagement of my beloved ward the Lady Morgana to his Highness the Prince of Mercia." There was clapping and words of congratulations but Morgana saw Gwen waiting patiently and only sighed in relief.

"Sire, may I be excused to change into some dry clothes?"

Uther dismissed her immediately, his stern face unusually warm as he watched her depart. Arthur stepped closer to his father, his eyes hard. "She has done her duty well, has she not, Father?"

"What?" Uther looked at his son. "Yes, Arthur, she has. Bayard is feeble. He will not live for much longer and with my adopted daughter on his throne I will have full control over both these kingdoms. It will be my descendants who rule Camelot and Mercia."

"But Father, Morgana isn't even your daughter."

Uther shook his head. "When the time comes, that won't even matter."

"So, what's he like?" Gwen folded Morgana's clothes into a neat pile before transferring them to her wardrobe. "The Prince of Mercia?"

Morgana, with her back to Gwen, twisted the ring on her finger with a raw look in her eyes. "He is everything a prince should be, Gwen. Handsome, charming, graceful, courteous..." Her voice trailed off as she stared down at the purple glint in the middle of the gold. Of course it would be an amethyst ring. Amethysts; Ygraine's personal jewel. Arthur's favourite jewel. The jewel that even at that moment, hung around her neck defiantly. Viridian had thought she liked them.

"My lady?" Gwen silently moved to her mistress' side. "Is something wrong?"

When Morgana finally tore her gaze from the ring to Gwen's anxious kind face, her green eyes were wide with horror. "What have I done Gwen? What have I done?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews and story alerts; it's great to know people are enjoying this! I don't own the poem at the bottom, it's by Monika Arnett and I found it on a website called authorsden. Hope you like this second part!**

'The weeping willow has long been associated with death, tears, reflection and mourning.'

Arthur had not wanted a sister. He had not wanted a friend. A companion. A cousin. He had not even known what a lover was. He had not known what fate or fortune meant. He did not know what a coincidence was. He had not asked for Morgana but still he had been given her. He just did not know why.

Camelot was in bloom. Pale pink roses, rich red tulips, cheerful yellow pansies, proud daffodils, pressed to protect them from the waning of spring and delicate freesias danced their way along the castle walls, inside and out. The freshest meat, vegetables, fruit and sweetmeats were purchased from the kingdom's eager sellers and kept cool in the castle kitchens far below the ground. The tailors of Camelot had never been happier. Gowns of ermine, silk, satin, taffeta, muslin and brocade were ordered every hour of every day in colours that people had never even heard of. Azure, crimson, magenta, aqua and burnt sienna.

There was lightness in the air as though all of the cares of the kingdom had been lifted and replaced by the airy laughter that trailed the streets finding its loudest chimes in the castle itself.

Uther was the happiest he had been for years. A month after Morgana's return from Mercia he had been able to wait no longer and invited Bayard to Camelot to start planning the wedding. "It shall be the wedding of the century!" he had declared. No one disagreed.

It was a week before the marriage. Morgana spent most of her time in the woods alone, forever twisting the ring that would not leave her alone. She avoided the willow tree, closed her eyes dangerously as she ran past, stumbling on the roots reaching out of the ground, cutting her face when she tripped and facing Viridian's reproach when he told her it could ruin her face for the wedding. She found a quiet place away from the birdsong and the sounds of the castle and spent hours just looking. Just thinking. Arthur did not follow her. He ordered the knights to be ready; they were to perform some useless sword skills after the wedding as part of the entertainment but he did not feel anymore. He spoke and he walked and he fought but he did not feel. If he allowed himself to feel for more than a second, it would take more than a year for him to recover. It was as though the past ten years had not happened.

"Prince Arthur?" The now familiar tones of Viridian rang behind him. Arthur sighed. He had been trying to escape to the lake. It was far too hot to do anything except swim.

He masked his annoyance and turned to the other man. Again he was hit with confusion. What was it about the dark-haired, thin man in front of him that Morgana loved? Arthur had painfully studied the other prince since his arrival, ignoring the thuds inside his own chest. There was nothing he could find that Morgana could love. Viridian was not passionate, nor was he tender. He was not eager nor was he calm. He was placid and tedious and polite. He was nothing! But what could Arthur say? Morgana had made her choice and he would accept it. "Yes?"

"I'm so glad I caught you," he had such deep dark eyes, Arthur noticed. Did Morgana feel like she was drowning when she looked at him? "I wanted to ask you something."

"Oh?"

"I know how much you mean to Morgana," he began kindly. Arthur felt his heart fall from his chest. Morgana had spoken to Viridian about him? They had discussed him? "And seeing as I have no brothers, I was hoping that perhaps you would do me the honour of being my best man?"

"Best man?" All he could feel was emptiness in his chest where his heart should have been.

"Yes, you know; my sort of second in command on the day."

"What?" Arthur couldn't think.

"Well, I thought as we will be brothers after the wedding, I might as well –,"

"– brothers?" Arthur interrupted with a violent edge to his voice.

"Morgana told me you were like a brother to her." Viridian watched Arthur's face closely.

Arthur gasped. Memories, unbidden swam around his head. The way he had kissed Morgana, the way he held her, the way he looked at her. That was not the way a brother kissed his sister. It was not the way he held her. It was not the way he looked at her. How could she?_ Why _would she? "I don't understand –," he choked, eyes closed as he fought to push the memories from his mind.

"Morgana told me that ever since she came here, you have treated her like a sister and she loves you dearly as her beloved brother. It's endearing," Viridian watched Arthur pale before him. "How she talks about you. Like an indulging older sister."

"Excuse me –," failing to calm his spinning head, Arthur stumbled away, half-blind. The mocking voice of the other prince followed his thundering ears as he struggled to move away. He only opened his eyes when he was surrounded by silence. To his surprise and relief he was by the lake. In his mind's eye he saw her, rise gracefully from the water, long hair slicked back to her head, wet clothes plastered to her beautiful figure and a smile on her lips. She said something, he tried to reply but then she was gone. Arthur knelt on the ground and buried his face in his hands. But the pain he was waiting for did not come. Perhaps, he thought with a glimmer of hope tainted with despair. Perhaps it was over.

Morgana had finally been persuaded to put her wedding dress on. It folded and loosened in all the right places; the rich ivory white a striking contrast against her long black hair. She stood very still as Gwen moved around her, sticking pins and draping fabric. Morgana had not spoken to Gwen with warmth since the evening she had returned. Gwen said nothing either. She understood Lady Morgana had no warmth left to give. One question however Gwen could not silence. She watched the eerily beautiful woman stand wearing the most beautiful dress she could ever have imagined in a beautiful castle with a beautiful fiancée. Yet the look in her eyes was not of beauty awaiting her happiest hour. It was of a cornered fox; the wide, hunted glow in their amber eyes, the dull realisation that it was all over, that they could not run anymore. And Gwen could not understand why. "Why are you doing this, my lady?" She asked hesitantly. The hue of Morgana's skin turned the colour of her dress.

"I don't know what you mean Guinevere." Morgana's face was hard. Her straight Greek nose, white, flawless skin and gemstone-like eyes were hard. Gwen wondered how she had never noticed before. Perhaps beauty was more prominent in a face she had known for years. Or perhaps there had always been a smile to soften it before.

Gwen reached to take Morgana's hand slowly. Morgana stared down at their clasped hands silently but she did not pull away. "I cannot understand why you are marrying Prince Viridian when it seems to make you so unhappy." Morgana's eyes widened momentarily; for a charged second they revealed her soul. Then the frost descended back to her face and she gently tugged her hand from Gwen's.

For a long time Gwen did not think she would receive an answer but then in a quiet voice, carefully blank Morgana replied. "Viridian is a good man, Guinevere. He is kind and I will be doing my kingdom and my king a great service by marrying him."

Gwen's kind brown eyes softened. "But what about you?" Morgana almost laughed; what a sour, bitter sound it would have been. What about you? She had not heard that for a long time.

"_Uther wishes me to accompany him to a visit to Tintagel," Morgana stretched to hide the heady rush of pain that hit her as soon as she spoke those words. Above her there was a rush of sudden air through the willow tree branches hiding it. Gratefully she ran a finger along the trunk softly tracing the lines. Arthur lay beside her, twigs caught in his too-long blonde hair. She grinned and pulled a strand. He badly needed a haircut. He smiled as he rolled on to his side to face her. His too-blue eyes were childlike. They always were. _

"_What about you?" He asked slowly. Morgana sighed and sat up. Arthur copied her, his fourteen year old eyes following her form carefully, his fourteen year old face blushing when he caught her eye. _

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Do you want to go there?" To hide his embarrassment Arthur pulled up a clump of grass and began twining it around his finger, engrossed in the task. _

"_Does it matter?" To Uther it did not. Morgana suppressed a flash of the castle where she had been born. Where her mother had died. Where they had brought her father's dead body. The place they had dragged her from screaming as a child to Camelot. It stood proud, wailing in the sea wind, the mightiest sight in Albion, as vain and superior as the most beautiful woman in the banquet hall. Her dull grey stones would not succumb to age or waves; their strength was in the wisdom and power that built them. For that moment Morgana stood on the battlements; wild hair blowing around her face, flecks of her beloved sea as pinpricks in her young mouth and the mournful, radiant face of her blue-eyed mother standing beside her, gazing out at her ocean. _

"_I think that if I had to return to the place where I had my last memories of my parents. That I was forced to leave there to go somewhere else then I would be sad." Morgana smiled tenderly. Arthur was so...innocent. He was so simple in his words. It only made her love him more. Would he always be so beautiful? She prayed so. _

"_Oh, Arthur." She lay back down, staring up at his face thoughtfully. "You always know."_

_He had only tentatively touched her hair with his hand and placed a wild daisy he had found in her open palm. They never really needed words. _

Her parents had married in summer, Morgana remembered. They had married at Tintagel, with the sea their guests and the stones their priest. They had run away from everybody to be married. It was romantic, they had told her later, it was secret and it was exciting. It had made them love each other more. Arthur's parents had married in winter, Morgana remembered. They had married at Camelot with the whole of the kingdom watching. Ygraine had been the loveliest lady in the land, she remembered. There was an old painting of her in Uther's apartments that she had seen only once. Ygraine had been lovely enough to give Arthur her clear blue eyes.

It was summer still. The last of the nightingales settled to sleep and the larks heralded the morning. Their song was full of innocence and hope. The morning was always hopeful. The sky was fresh and clean from its nightly rest, the sun was pale gold, like the hair of Morgana's childhood pony and the clouds were small and harmless, hovering in the sky, waiting to leave. It was a perfect morning the morning Morgana would become Princess of Mercia. She woke early, before Gwen came to her and went to the window. It was strange, she reflected, that she felt so alone on such a glorious day. She had felt alone for a very long time, it seemed. It was an ache in her chest, like a solemn absence of something that should have been there. It was the ache of an absence of a heart. Ever since the night of her sixteenth birthday, Morgana had slowly felt the blood of her heart drip from her body until it had all gone and there was nothing left to feel. Nothing left except soured memories and the bitter taste of emptiness.

If she stretched her head out, she could see the beginning of the woods beyond the castle. The beginning of the freedom from rule and laws and a paranoid king who feared everything. The lake would be like glass on a morning like that one. Morgana could feel the water on her bare skin, leaving her shiny and cold just like glass. The willow tree would be in its full glory. The shade of the branches would mean the ground below would be soft and dewy, the trunk would be lined like an old man's face yet still strong and wise. They said trees could feel. They said if only we would listen we might hear the cries of the tree we destroyed for firewood. They said if only we would wait we might hear the weeping of the towering oak whose seedling child has been maimed at the whim of a spoilt child. Morgana did not know how true it was yet she knew if ever a tree could feel, it was the willow tree.

She was struck with an abrupt longing to be there. She had not been there in too long and just to touch it one more time for departing for Mercia would be enough. In her secret heart she did not doubt that once she left Camelot, she would be leaving it forever. It could not hurt. One last time.

"Sire!" Arthur turned reluctantly. Gwen was rushing toward him with wide eyes and an open mouth. He stood, waiting awkwardly holding his white shirt. "Sire, have you seen Lady Morgana?"

Morgana? An old flutter of worry crept through him. He shook it off impatiently. "No, Guinevere, sorry." He made to walk on but the foolish maid stopped him.

"Sire, I think perhaps," she hesitated. "Perhaps she has run away."

"What!"

"Your Highness, forgive me but I do not think she truly wanted this marriage," Gwen spoke quickly but Arthur understood every word she said. "I think perhaps she felt trapped and she thought running away was the best thing to do. I cannot find her anywhere and the wedding starts in less than an hour!"

Arthur was silent for half a second. He glanced down at his white shirt and ran a hand absently through his hair. "I can't help you, Guinevere. I'm sorry." And he walked away leaving Gwen staring after him with a look that was both shock and disgust.

"_Was it as bad as you thought?" He asked carefully. Morgana's face had been drawn and whiter than usual since her return. He had to ask but he did not have to hurt her by doing so. She trusted him not to. _

"_No." Morgana hid her face in her pillow. "It was worse."_

_There was a heavy silence. Arthur shifted in his bed, pulling his shirt down over his stomach. "Morgana," he began awkwardly. "Was that what your nightmare was about this time?" He never asked about the nightmares. She still came to him sometimes, when her sleep was troubled. She still trusted him to be a solid presence beside her and not to ask her and not to talk but only to wait and hold and wake her in the morning so she could return to her own bed. He did not know what made him ask this time. Perhaps it was time he knew. _

"_No." _

_For a long time after he admired her answer. All his life Arthur had said yes. He had always thought there was a lot more courage in saying no. Morgana always said no. But then she had always been braver than he. _

"Is this how she normally behaves, Uther?" Bayard's hiss, designed to be both quiet and biting was only loud and echoed over the guests gathered in the great hall. Uther cringed, refusing to answer. The hall was devoid of any sound. Nobody wanted to speak. Viridian kept his eyes on the marble floor. Arthur allowed his eyes to wander freely over the pathetic man in front of him. Viridian was thin and slight with large brown eyes and wavy brown hair. He was wearing purple and seemed like a child next to his burly, rotund father wearing a scowl and the royal crown of Mercia. Did Morgana love this creature? Did she dream of him? Did she share her thoughts and fears and hopes as she had once done with Arthur? He could not believe it. The feeble Viridian did not look strong enough to hold her secrets. Arthur had done so for years and never once felt the weight upon his heart.

Arthur's eyes were caught by a glimmer of purple by Viridian's waist. He was wearing a tiny amethyst on his belt. Anger, raw and free raged in Arthur's veins. This man was trying to take his jewel from him. Was it not enough that he had stolen away Arthur's heart?

Arthur stepped forward.

"Father, I think I may know where Morgana is."

Of course she was there. The ground was empty at first glance and fear filled him but there was white amongst the green leaves. Of course she was there. He looked up at her. She looked down. His blue eyes and blonde hair was the same as the day she had first set eyes upon him. He was taller, his face was thinner, slightly longer. His shoulders were broad and his lips were full. If she had asked God to fashion a man from clay for her, she could not have asked for more.

She had never cut her hair. That was one of her secrets. It was loose then, curly and black tumbling wildly over her slender shoulders hanging to her waist. She wore white, an ivory a shade lighter than her alabaster skin. It looked so hard yet when he first touched her cheek he was not surprised by its softness. Morgana looked like a goddess but she was a woman and she did not want to be worshipped from afar. Her eyes were darker. They had been a crystal green when he had first looked into them. Now they were green like summer grass, lightened with sun but still dark enough to show her soul. If eyes were the doors to our souls, Morgana's was a path to the very gates of heaven.

"Will you come down?" He did not know if he said it or thought it. She shook her head but then changed her mind and swung her legs down, dropping to the ground easily.

Her feet hit a mound of earth. He glanced at her. Her neck was empty. Arthur at once dropped to his knees and started to shift the mound of earth. Beneath it lay the amethyst necklace untarnished by the soil. He took it and stood. "Why?"

"Because it reminded me of you."

"You no longer want to be reminded of me."

Her face was desperate. "Arthur, you must understand? I am marrying Viridian and once I leave, we will never see each other again."

He twisted the amethyst around in his hands. "Are you?"

"Yes, I am. I'm sorry, Arthur," he saw how much it pained her to say his name. "But I must."

"He is standing in there without a bride and you are here, burying an amethyst necklace." He refused to look at her, touching the jewel tenderly.

"I will go in soon." But she did not move.

"May I ask you one thing before you do?" His voice was calm, polite. His eyes talked to the earth.

"Yes."

"Why did you keep this? After...? Why did you not throw it away before? My memory was obviously so distasteful to you."

Morgana stepped forward, green eyes pleading. "Because I loved you, Arthur and because I still hoped one day you would love me once more."

"You didn't love me," he was certain. Of at least that, he could be certain. "If you loved me you would not have pushed me from you."

"Arthur!" Morgana opened her clenched fist. "You left me! Alone in Mercia, you left me to Viridian's kindness. I waited and waited and you did not write. You didn't come to me when I needed you and," tears formed in her beautiful eyes. "And you didn't keep your promise."

"You had already left me. You told me, that night, the night you were sixteen, the night I gave you this!" Arthur held up the necklace defiantly. "You told me that I was too busy learning about the Pendragons and fighting to have time for you. Don't deny it...Morgana, I remember everything that happened that night." It's more painful than he imagined, saying her name. It tastes like red hot strawberries on his tongue.

"So do I. And everything before it. We grew apart Arthur, it wasn't our fault. Since when does first love last forever?" Arthur watched the sad resignation on her face. She was giving up.

"Morgana, I wanted to fight. I wanted to love you and marry you and I wanted you but..." his voice slowed as he remembered. "But you didn't. I didn't write to you because there was nothing to say. I would have hurt us both more by prolonging the agony. I pulled the thorn out swiftly, praying I wouldn't be bitten. I thought you had done the same."

"Stop trying to make me the one who gave up first, Arthur!" Morgana shook her head incredulously. "I realised there was nothing left for me in Camelot so yes, I accepted Viridian. That doesn't make me a monster, it makes me a human. Humans want to be loved, humans need to be loved. I'm only human, Arthur. I never pretended to be anything more."

"It doesn't make you a monster," Arthur agreed quietly. "And I always knew you were only human. Only humans have nightmares and go to the person they trust more than anyone else to fall asleep with. Only humans scrape the skin of their fingers carving initials into a willow tree. Only humans love and then lose but somehow carry on living although every day they wish for death."

A single tear ran down her cheek. Morgana made no move to wipe it away so Arthur leant forward and gently traced his finger across her cheek, taking the tear with him. "You told Father to cut down the willow tree." Arthur breathed, near her face. His blue eyes were sad.

Morgana's face crumpled. "I know." She whispered.

Arthur's face was still very close to Morgana's. They each held their breath for a single moment. It was enough. He pressed his lips softly against hers. It was like a first kiss. Uncertain, wary but the most beautiful thing in this world. And as Morgana sighed quietly and Arthur's hand found hers under the branches of their willow tree, they both thought that perhaps it would be all right. Perhaps they would be safe.

'Today, I remember sharing my life  
>with you;<br>Vows of love and friendship, forever  
>spoken;<br>and now,  
>I lie alone beneath a<br>weeping willow tree.'

**I will admit the ending is a little weaker than I had originally planned but that's because I fully intend to write another sequel ;D I hope that's good news! I had a lot of fun writing this and I'd love it if you'd let me know what you think about it, thanks!**


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